


if we get this right

by Slumber



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Childhood Friends, M/M, Political Alliances, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:53:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29124474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slumber/pseuds/Slumber
Summary: Suna had always held a sharpness to him, even as a young child sent to live with Osamu’s family. He was quiet and astute, careful in his actions and resistant to getting ensnared in trouble. It didn’t mean he never helpedcauseit, but he somehow always found a way to escape the consequences as Osamu and his brother never could.It was a troublesome trait in a childhood friend.Now, Osamu thinks, it might have become a dangerous trait in a lord.Osamu is part of an Inarizaki delegation sent to discuss a deal with Suna's domain. The negotiations are not quite what Osamu expects.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 8
Kudos: 59
Collections: SunaOsa Valentine's Exchange





	if we get this right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [demonicorenjii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonicorenjii/gifts).



> Hi Tabby! Here's a little historical AU with a dash of childhood friends thrown in—it was a fun set of prompts to write to and I hope you enjoy this!

Osamu gets his first look at the ocean when their delegation emerges from the forest road they’d taken, finding themselves at the crest of a hill that opens up to the city below, expanding to a wide sea glittering with the high rays of the midday sun. He’s been struggling to stay awake, alert, and seated—the journey has been long and uneventfully tedious—but the sight does to him what sun does to a sunflower. He sits up straighter, leaning forward just a little more, fingers brushing the mane of his steed as he takes this all in: the salt-heavy smell in the air, the clustered buildings at the foot of the hill, the fortified castle standing tall at the center of everything and the end of their journey.

“We have made good time,” Kita murmurs beside him. “Our men should have reached the castle to announce our arrival by now. Look—” he points out, where from their vantage point they can see movement within the castle walls: men gathering together, banners in both clan’s colors unfurling from the parapets. “They are getting ready for us.”

Osamu makes a sound to let Kita know he’s heard him, his gaze tracking the activity below, but they are too far away to see clearly, the men too small, too indistinguishable from each other.

Kita clears his throat. “Perhaps we should give them more time to—”

“We can proceed.”

“Of course,” Kita says, and it is only from knowing him nearly all his life that Osamu can hear the teasing lilt in his words. “The sooner, the better.”

* * *

There is more fanfare that comes to greet them than Osamu expected once the gates to the castle open and they are welcomed inside. Rows of men and women stand at attention on either side of them, forming a straight path to the center of the court where one figure, flanked by a retinue of two, awaits.

Suna Rintarou was twelve years old the last time Osamu saw him, lanky and expressionless, not even one look back when his uncle came to take him back home.

He is twenty-one now, taller and broader, though he wears the same dark hair parted at the center, the same heavy-lidded gray eyes that see more than he lets on. There is a curl to the corner of his lips that isn’t usually there, a sparkle in his gaze when he meets Osamu’s, and something in the regal expression he wears softens, a little. 

“Osamu,” he murmurs, eschewing the traditional greetings for the familiar. “It has been too long. You look well.”

“As do you,” Osamu tells him, his smile a little wider. “I am here now. We have much to catch up on.”

* * *

There is even more to prepare before they can, however—Suna is whisked away to deal with something important by one of his advisors, Osamu guided by one of the castle men to their accommodations and settled in. 

“We have traveled long and far to get here,” Kita tells him. “It would do you well to rest for the time being.”

Osamu does not argue then, not when the sight of a mattress is too tempting to resist, and he’s asleep before he even has a chance to fully lay on it. 

Sleep turns out to be a good decision. Kita wakes him up hours later to prepare for the welcoming dinner, and he isn’t sure what he expects but it is nowhere near the feast that awaits them when they enter the dining hall, long rows of tables laden with all kinds of food and sweets—many of them, Osamu notes, among his favorites—drinks overflowing and music loud and lively.

Osamu’s place is at the head of the table right next to Suna’s, who greets him with a knowing smile and a slight tilt of his head. 

“I told our kitchen staff you had an insatiable appetite,” he starts, his tone holding the faintest edge of teasing, “but I didn’t think they’d take me this seriously.”

“You have outdone yourself, truly,” Osamu says gamely in return. “You did not need go so far for my sake.” 

“Didn’t I?” Suna asks, and even the question seems far more indulgent coming from him than Osamu remembers. 

“I am an old friend, aren’t I?” Osamu offers even as he accepts the wine, the food, Suna’s languid smile. 

“Is that who visits my domain?” Suna lifts an eyebrow, his smile turning knowing. “An old friend, not a lord looking for favor?”

Osamu laughs. “It cannot be both? We are not here merely looking for favors—”

“Let us wait until tomorrow to discuss business, then,” Suna says, gesturing for more wine now that his glass, and Osamu’s, are half empty. “Tonight I will drink with my old friend.”

“As you wish,” Osamu says, keeping Suna’s gaze as they toast to their friendship.

Suna had always held a sharpness to him, even as a young child sent to live with Osamu’s family. He was quiet and astute, careful in his actions and resistant to getting ensnared in trouble. It didn’t mean he never helped _cause_ it, but he somehow always found a way to escape the consequences as Osamu and his brother never could. 

It was a troublesome trait in a childhood friend. 

Now, Osamu thinks, it might have become a dangerous trait in a lord.

* * *

Raijin covers a geographical area much smaller than Inarizaki’s, but it has, over the years, become more strategically important for trade and commerce. What was once a small fishing village had developed into a port city that became central in the exchange of goods in the eastern coast and established itself as an integral stop along the route that connected Kyoto to Edo. Inarizaki had primarily been trading only with Kyoto until recently, but as activity increased in Edo to a degree that even Kyoto hadn’t seen, and as Inarizaki’s harvests grew more bountiful over the years thanks to Kita-san’s judicious guidance, they found themselves faced with an opportunity to establish better ties with Raijin, with perhaps a more favorable agreement that would allow them to trade more freely with the eastern part of the country.

And why shouldn’t they? Osamu’s father had taken Suna in as a ward many years prior—a favor to an old friend—and raised him alongside both his sons. He was educated by the same tutors, trained in the same disciplines, and treated like one of his own.

Osamu doubted his father had political aspirations when he did that, the work Suna’s father would have done in Raijin unexpected at the time, but here Suna is now, heir apparent to the Raijin domain and one with a strong enough tie to Inarizaki that negotiations could— _should_ —be at least amicable, especially if they can come to a treaty beneficial to both domains. 

But perhaps Osamu had leaned more heavily on that assumption than Suna did.

The Raijin domain may be only newly important, but on the first day of negotiations it becomes clear that they have become so not out of sheer luck or happy accident. Their advisors are shrewd and savvy, and Suna may be the most formidable of them all, narrowing down on specific points of the proposal he finds questionable and couching his disapproval in diplomatic but sharp, knowing questions.

Suna had always preferred that kind of parry, even in sparring. He’d always seen Osamu’s weakest points so clearly, and found the quickest route to exposing them. 

And Osamu feels upended now, thrown off his prepared remarks in much the same way a sudden sly grin from Suna would have once disarmed him, but Kita is there to cover the gaps in his defenses, countering with arguments that Suna appears to find satisfactory, with a few minor caveats they hammer out over the next hour. Osamu finds his footing not long after, joining the discussions with the talking points they had agreed upon earlier, yielding only where reasonable and finding common ground where compromise was needed.

It’s a spirited conversation, Suna and his advisors bringing up points Osamu hadn’t considered before but does now, and though it becomes clear they have their work cut out for them a resolution seems within reach. The meeting ends just as the sun is setting, one of Suna’s advisors calling for a recess before they are to resume the next day. 

Osamu hasn’t even noticed the day pass—at some point earlier his stomach had growled, and with a clap of his hands Suna had summoned meals of fresh fish and rice and noodles for the delegation. They’d grazed on soft bread and fruit and rice cakes throughout, their glasses never left empty. He looks up now at the end of the first day and meets Suna’s gaze, finding it softer than it had been all day, the smile tugging at the edges of his lips familiar.

“Dinner will be served at the dining hall in an hour. Let us not discuss business any longer,” Suna tells everyone in the room, a clear dismissal. He waits until everyone leaves, and it is just Osamu who remains with him. “Old friend,” he says, the words warm and honeyed to Osamu’s ears, “why don’t we go for a walk?”

* * *

After spending all day battling Suna, the lord of Raijin, on points of economic costs and benefits, Osamu isn’t certain what political maneuver awaits him on this walk, but the Suna that takes him out to the gardens surrounding the castle courtyard looks younger, in Osamu’s eyes. Less on edge, though no less guarded. 

“How is your brother doing?” Suna asks, and in the space between the pause for quiet and his question Osamu thinks he recognizes a glimmer of the twelve-year-old who never bothered hiding his laughter whenever Atsumu found himself the victim of his own hubris. “Shame he couldn’t make the journey.”

Osamu raises an eyebrow. “If we’d left the two of you alone we’d have found ourselves going into battle instead of entering an alliance.” It is mostly a lighthearted comment—Suna’s lips twitch at the corners—but Atsumu and Suna had always had a contentious, oddly competitive relationship. No one in Inarizaki thought sending Atsumu instead of Osamu would have yielded them the results they needed. “He is doing well. But you know what he’s like. Taken to his new position like he is made for it.”

“You sound proud,” Suna murmurs. “Not jealous?”

Osamu snorts. “It has never been for me,” he says. “Atsumu had always burned for it harder and stronger. It’s what he wanted to do from the beginning.” He turns to Suna with a secret smile. “And don’t ever tell him I told you this, but—he’s not half-bad at it.”

“Definitely proud, then,” Suna says, clasping his hands behind his back. “I’m almost jealous. And you?”

“What about me? Am _I_ almost jealous?” Osamu asks, grinning at the look Suna throws him. 

“Is this for you? Diplomatic missions on behalf of your undiplomatic brother?”

“No, not entirely,” Osamu admits. Kita is a good enough representative to send, most other times. Osamu had only come because— 

Suna hums beside him. “You’ve time to find out, I suppose.” There is a long beat of silence, and then, softly: “But I really am glad you’ve made it here.”

Osamu doesn’t realize he’s been holding himself in anticipation of _something_ since they’d started talking, but the tension bleeds out of him in a slow, relieved exhale. Even when he was younger Suna hadn’t often sounded that small. “I am glad too,” he admits. “That I’m here.”

* * *

The days do not go any faster nor any easier, every new day at the negotiating table bringing up points within the proposal that must be discussed at length, examined from all angles, poked and prodded until all the loopholes are resolved to both parties’ satisfaction. What had struck Osamu originally as an unforgiving approach, over the next few days, evolves into signs of Suna’s thoroughness and his attention to detail. He has always been a clever boy, but here, as the lord of Raijin, he is also thoughtful and meticulous, resourceful in his proposed countermeasures, finding the opening and opportunities that would work for both Raijin and Inarizaki. 

Osamu can’t say the days fill him with excitement, but he always leaves feeling as though he’s seen a newer side of his old friend that he hasn’t seen before. 

By the evenings Suna would shed that politician’s facade and meet with Osamu as an old friend, sharing quiet, private meals or strolling through the gardens as they reminisced over their youth. In those moments Osamu is reminded of Suna’s sharp wit not for what it can do on the negotiating table but for how hard it can make him laugh and how much he liked it.

How much he missed it. 

It is those evenings that Osamu looks forward to most, not just for delight of the company but the understanding that the lord he faces during the day is relentless only with good reason. 

It doesn’t make the days any less brutal on Osamu’s faculties, but he can at least appreciate Suna for a lord who is simply doing what would be best for his people. 

“What’s this? A spy sent to us in the form of the second son of Inarizaki?” a low voice catches Osamu out of his thoughts, jerking him to attention. 

He laughs, sheepish, when he meets the mirth sparkling in Suna’s gaze. “My sources have told me there is much to learn from the Raijin kitchens,” he says, doing nothing to hide the chunk of bread he’d pilfered from the stores. “It seemed only appropriate for raiding.”

“Don’t tell me we haven’t been feeding you enough these days,” Suna says. “Should I have our cook hanged?”

Osamu scoffs. “You’ve met me,” he reminds Suna. “You should have all cooks hanged, in that case. Including ours. Bread?”

Suna shakes his head. “I came for a drink,” he says, finding the wine easily. “Care to join me?”

“Just a drink? Are you certain?” Osamu asks. From the corner of his eyes he spots what looks like a pot of uncooked rice. “I used to make you more than that, before.”

“You did not make me bread either,” Suna reminds him, following his gaze. “But it has been a while since I’ve had rice balls.”

“Might I change your mind with it, then?”

“Please do,” Suna says, his lips curling up into a warm, indulgent smile that keeps Osamu frozen in place for the smallest of moments before he abruptly turns around to find the ingredients he needs.

The rice doesn’t take long to start cooking, something about the movements practiced, almost ritualistic, for Osamu. He and Suna, who has apparently not explored his kitchen as thoroughly as he’s explored Osamu’s, rummage through the stores and settle on pickled plums hidden in one of the shelves. Suna pours them both a drink as they wait for the rice, their voices pitched low and their words murmured, something about the cover of the night blanketing the moment in something intimate and precious.

“Are you sure you do not want me to teach you how to make these?” Osamu asks once the rice is done and he’s in his element, hands nimble and deft as he shapes the rice into a perfect triangle, the pickled plum set right in its center. 

Suna’s eyes rise from his hands to meet his gaze. “Then what use will I have of you if I can make it myself?” he asks, straight-faced, until a huff of laughter slips out from his lips. “It will not be the same. You make them best.”

Osamu feels his ears heat up, the words sounding more than empty flattery to him. “You’re just saying that so I’ll make you more while I’m here,” he mutters, ducking his face to focus on the rice ball he is making, though he’s so used to them he could make them by touch.

“Is it working?” Suna asks, teasing. 

“Only if you’ll concede the additional tariff your advisor Komori seems very intent on charging.”

Suna tsks, placing his cheek against his open palm. “No business while we’re like this, Osamu.”

“While we’re like what?” Osamu asks, laying the rice ball down before Suna, who reaches for it before Osamu can pull away, fingers brushing Osamu’s. He laughs to cover the way his breath hitches at the contact, sending a sharp jolt through him. “Are you sure we can’t tempt you to reconsider, for old times’ sake? There may be plenty of rice balls in it for you in the future, if you do.”

Suna doesn’t reply, taking the moment instead to take a bite of his rice ball. 

Osamu, out of habit and nervous energy, begins making the next one. “You have plenty of good fish here, do you not? Next time we shall ask your kitchen staff where those are kept. You might like them better than the plums.”

“I’ve liked everything you’ve made for me,” Suna says, so quietly Osamu almost misses it. He pushes himself to stand, fingers on the edges of the table. “Thank you for the food. I think I’m ready to sleep now. You may leave the rest as they are when you’re done; the staff will clean them up in the morning. Good night, Osamu.”

“Sleep well, Suna,” Osamu murmurs. He isn’t sure if Suna hears him or not.

He isn’t sure if, at that moment, just then, he’s missed something else entirely, too.

* * *

Suna soothes his concerns over the next few days, his approach at the official meetings no different than before, his behavior in the evenings staying the same, as well. By all accounts Osamu should be relieved by this, and in a way he is, but he feels much like a traveler who’d taken the wrong fork in the road, and has perhaps found himself right back where he started from.

“Whatever happens, do not accept Komori’s invitation,” Suna tells him one evening. “He may look guileless, but he is a menace when let loose on the town. I say this strictly for the sake of your health and well-being, of course.”

The negotiations are scheduled for a break the next day, and though some entertainment has been slated for the evening, the day itself has been left free for rest or socialization. Osamu glances at Suna briefly, trying to see if there is something to read between his words. “It would not be polite to turn down an invitation from one of your most trusted advisors.” 

“That would be a problem, wouldn’t it,” Suna says. “Especially if you didn’t have a lord whose whims you ought to indulge instead.”

“Oh?” Osamu tries not to smile. “And what whims are those?”

Suna says nothing more, only giving him a time and a place to meet up the next morning, smiling mysteriously when Osamu shows up near the back of the castle grounds. “Over here,” is all he says, leading Osamu through an unmanned door that opens out into the town.

Osamu doesn’t have time to wonder what Suna’s plans are, the route they weave through consisting of cutting through alleys and backways, the path convoluted and indirect. Perhaps it is only to avoid those who might recognize Suna, or piece together the quality of their clothing with their positions, but perhaps it is simply just the easiest way to get there, for before long the roads turn rough and the houses sparse, and as the sun continues to rise in the sky Osamu realizes they are moving towards the ocean.

“You don’t live near the sea like this, do you?” Suna asks him once they reach the coast, standing at the edge of a strip of beach that is empty, far away from the activity of the port, just the quiet of water lapping at sand in gentle, rhythmic waves. 

“No, you know we don’t,” Osamu says, remembering the way this had looked to him from far away, the day they arrived. The blue of it stretches indefinitely ahead of him, on and on and endless, brine thicker in the air here than at the top of that hill, where he can feel it even in the breeze that blows against his skin. 

“Come, then,” Suna says, toeing off his geta and hiking the hem of his hakama up. “The water feels great.”

There was a river near their home, one that had seen many of the lazy afternoons Osamu, Atsumu, and Suna spent during their youth. But it had a rocky riverbed, the stones smoothened over time and slippery to the touch if they weren’t careful, and the water was a cool rush against their ankles.

The ocean is different. The sand is different. Osamu’s feet sink into the coarse, grainy texture of it, the sandy shore between his toes. He holds up his own geta and the skirt of his hakama with one hand, wading into the shallow edge of the beach where Suna’s waiting for him, calf-deep in seawater.

“It’s warmer than I thought it’d be,” he says, the waves lapping gently against his feet. Sand turns wet beneath him, the smell of the sea much, much stronger now that he’s in it.

“Different from the river, isn’t it?”

“Is it the saltwater?” Osamu asks, jumping when something unseen and slimy slithers against his leg. “I felt something! What was that?”

Suna laughs, eyes crinkling with amusement, mouth wide and curved and beautiful. “It was probably just some seaweed. You should be fine.”

Osamu turns his gaze downward, making a show of peering closely at the water. “I can usually tell what’s in the riverbed.”

“This close to the shore there shouldn’t be anything to worry about,” Suna tells him, holding out his hand. “Though the sand may be a bit uneven. Come, let’s go a little farther.”

Osamu isn’t too sure about that, but he places his hand on Suna’s without a second thought, realizing what he’s done only when the warmth of his hand closes against his.

They have done this before, too, as young boys daring each other to cross the river when they probably shouldn’t have. He’d not thought twice about it then as well, the weight of a hand on his. The heat of it. The fit of it. 

“Be careful, it’s a little—” Suna’s telling him, but he hears the warning too late, something sharper brushing past his leg this time, the sand dipping deeper when he jumps out of the way. He flails for balance—there is no more charitable way to describe the way his arms wildly wave in the air as he panics, his center of gravity pitching him sideways and surely straight into the water— “Osamu!”

He blinks, breathless and embarrassed, so close to falling into the water were it not for Suna’s arm securely around his waist, the other hand holding him by the bicep. “I’m okay,” he’s quick to say, willing himself not to tear his gaze away from Suna’s own, no matter how tempted he is to see how close Suna’s lips are to his. 

“You spook too easily,” Suna says with the smallest lift of his eyebrow. This close Osamu can see the pull of a faint smile at the corner of his lips. “You didn’t use to. When we were younger.”

“I—”

Suna’s gaze lowers slightly before flickering back up. “What’s got you so jumpy?”

Osamu closes his mouth. Swallows hard. “Just not used to this,” he says, clearing his throat and pulling himself up to standing. “The beach. I mean. The—”

“Of course,” Suna says, his tone mild and neutral. “Then shall we head back?”

He’s held out his hand again, and there is no reason for Osamu not to take it. But he doesn’t let go, even when they’ve returned to solid, steady ground, walking beyond the sand and getting back on the road home.

That’s fine.

Osamu doesn’t stop feeling like one wrong step would upend him all over again, anyway. 

* * *

“We cannot subsidize storage for Inarizaki’s goods here,” Komori says, running over the figures he’s furiously tracking. “There is no room in the budget for it.”

“We’re already conceding certain tariffs from earlier,” Kita points out, eyes narrowed as he pulls out the tentative agreement they’ve drawn up. “You can use those funds to pay for storage.”

“Those funds will be allocated for the staffing we’ll need to take on to accommodate your merchants—”

“—who will be paying for their food and lodgings every time they pass through.”

“We have just enough stores as it is for our own produce,” Komori adds. “There is no room for more.”

“What about the land here?” Kita asks. “It is unused, you’ve said yourself.”

“And empty, yes. You’re welcome to build something there if you wish, and we will happily lend you the land, but—”

“Give us the land,” Osamu says, piping up for the first time since this debate began in earnest. Both Komori and Kita turn to him in surprise—Suna, who has been watching the exchange with narrowed eyes, sits up a little straighter, too. “Give us the land. We’ll build storage on it and pay for it ourselves, but once it is built then we will use it as we wish.”

“That’s madness,” Komori breathes. “ _Give_ it to you—”

“I have heard enough,” Suna says, clapping his hands twice in what has become his sign calling for recess. “We have been quibbling over the last tiny detail of this agreement all morning. Why don’t we take some time for lunch—Komori, Kita-san, there ought to be food waiting for you in the dining hall—and let’s return here with cooler heads and fuller stomachs, shall we?”

“Of course,” Komori says after a moment’s beat. He bows low before excusing himself, Kita only hesitating briefly before a nod from Osamu dismisses him, too.

“That certainly was interesting,” Suna says, his voice conversational and pleasant, though it keeps Osamu in his seat. It doesn’t sound like he’s meant to be taking his lunch yet, the way Suna’s addressing him. “You want us to give you land here.”

Osamu licks his lips. “It was just an idea,” he says. “A starting point. We need something here to help with the long route to Edo. We’ll pay to build it, but we’ll need land to build it on, don’t we?”

“A parcel of land is more than some dowries go these days,” Suna murmurs, the tone in his voice a low thrum that sends a flush of heat up the back of Osamu’s neck. “You will see why Komori reacted the way he did.”

“Yes, well, this isn’t—it’s not—”

“We don’t use that land you were asking for,” Suna says. “I don’t care if you have it.”

“Ah, then it’s sett—”

“Twenty years,” Suna says. When Osamu looks up to meet his gaze his gray eyes are steely, hard, and Osamu braces himself for a ruthless round of negotiating Kita won’t be able to help him with. “Inarizaki will have free and full use of the land for twenty years.”

“And after that?”

“After that it goes back to us. We can re-negotiate our terms. If no agreement is reached in the twentieth year, the land will stay with Inarizaki for five more years.” 

“That’s—”

“More than fair, don’t you think? Twenty years’ use is quite generous.”

“I am sure Kita-san will find nothing objectionable with that resolution,” Osamu says. “I believe we’ll be happy to take it.”

“On one more condition.” 

Osamu should have known. But Suna has held his cards close to the chest this entire time, and Osamu’s met him on this same table the last few days wondering what it is he’s been angling for all along. “Well then?” he asks, waiting to see Suna show his hand. 

He does not expect Suna to look hesitant as he does now, of all times, when he’s nearly got Osamu— _Inarizaki_ —where he wants. But for the briefest of moments Suna’s eyes flutter shut, the breath he takes deep, as though he’s steeling himself and finding his resolve. Just how big of a move is he about to— 

“We’ll need someone from Inarizaki to oversee this construction, of course,” Suna says, seemingly deciding to make his approach from the side, as he likes doing. “We would not be able to spare our own men for it.”

“Of course,” Osamu agrees.

“It might do Inarizaki well to have someone here, regardless, anyway.” Suna’s gaze is on the draft of the agreement, scrolls of it unfurled and laid out on the table, bridging the space between where they both sat. “It would be due diligence on your part. We’ll be happy to provide accommodations—goodwill, on ours.”

“Naturally.” Osamu frowns. “Where are you going with—”

“You’re already here,” Suna says, finally looking up at him. “You can begin right away, under your supervision.”

“Me.”

“Kita’s got an official duty to Inarizaki that isn’t restricted to this treaty, does he not?” Suna asks, but he does not sound certain, a sliver of worry glancing through his eyes. “You do not. It may only last the length of the construction if you wish, while you decide what it is you’d prefer to be doing for Inarizaki. But—”

“Is that your condition then?” Osamu asks. “Before you can agree?”

Suna shakes his head. “I do not plan to hold you hostage if you do not wish me to. The condition is for a representative from Inarizaki—it does not have to be you.”

Osamu has just had a sip of his drink, but his throat feels especially dry. “But you would prefer it.”

Suna holds his gaze, exposed and honest and irresistible when he says, “I would prefer nothing more.”

* * *

“We missed you at the dining hall,” Komori says when he and Kita return, not long after. “Should we have your food brought up here?”

“I don’t think there is any need,” Suna says, and he’s mirroring the smile Osamu’s wearing.

Osamu nods at the curious look Kita gives him. “We’ve found ourselves at last in agreement.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always super welcome. ♥ 
> 
> If you liked what you've read, I've also written a handful of [other Haikyuu!! fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slumber/works?fandom_id=758208), plus [one other SunaOsa](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24462247).


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